


From a Distance

by NanakiBH



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: springkink, M/M, Power Dynamics, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanakiBH/pseuds/NanakiBH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt himself captivated by him without explanation, but found it impossible not to want him more for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Distance

**Author's Note:**

> For this springkink prompt:  
> "Bleach - Kurosaki Ichigo/Ishida Uryuu - Power issues (inequities in beauty, rank, or class; power games; power reversals; teacher/student pairings; magical powers; abuse of power; blackmail; issues of respect)"

He keeps his eyes on him in class.

Not the way everyone else does, where their eyes are sort of glazed over and glassy while they think about what they're going to do when class ends, but really looks at him. Their eyes connect briefly at times and it's always the other that looks away first and he feels some pride surge inside that he managed to make him flinch again. There's something about watching those delicate features behind his glasses flash with distress when he catches him off guard.

Ichigo makes sure he's always awake for this class. The others don't really matter. He can suffer through the first couple lessons with his forehead pressed to his desk if it means that he'll be alert enough to make that distinct eye contact with Ishida-sensei when he gets to his class.

He's the one known for sitting at the back and Ishida is the sensei known for favoring the students who are attentive and conscientious enough to come in and grab one of the seats at the front. No matter how early he comes to class, Ichigo always takes the back middle. That way, no one realizes who has Ishida looking flustered until they turn and follow his gaze to the back row where Ichigo sits smirking smugly with his legs crossed at his ankles in front of his desk.

It doesn't go much further than that. He questions himself about what he's been doing this whole time and what it means. One day, while he watches his back, he realizes that he may like him; that is a possibility. But this sensei is also at least ten years older than him. In appearance, they don't seem all that different in age, but Ichigo finds it easy to blame that fact on his odd hair color and the fact that he's always been fairly tall.

When he realizes in class that this means that he's been picturing what they would look like _together_ then, he literally stands in a fit and grabs his pencil and throws it across the room with a pitch that sends it splintering against the board right next to Ishida-sensei's head.

He stops. He turns, adjusts his glasses calmly, and orders Ichigo to detention with him.

And Ichigo just sits back down in his chair, scoots it back up to his desk. For once, it's nearly impossible to look at him. He doesn't know why it struck him as something to feel so outraged by so suddenly, but now he's lacking a pencil and he can't concentrate and Ishida is probably going to make him write the lesson fifty times later in his notebook and he'll have no pencil to do it with.

He doesn't know what the hell the lesson is either. Sadly, he realizes that Ishida was all he had been paying attention to this whole time – not what he was saying. It is frankly remarkable, he thinks, that he could so attentively watch the way his lips move and never pay attention to what they were saying. His eyes had always just said more to him, even from behind his glasses with the afternoon sun reflecting off of them.

Ishida-sensei isn't traditionally attractive, he thinks later as he sits in his class for detention. By then, there had been four classes remaining to think about what all of this meant to him, so nothing seems to be coming to his mind as a surprise anymore. He thinks he's attractive, simply that, and in a way that possibly only he can appreciate. For a guy, he's awfully thin and he has long fingers and his skin looks very delicate and soft. The nerdy way he presents himself has kept him from becoming popular with the girls, though. Perhaps one of the girls who always came early and got a seat at the front could be harboring a secret crush, but he doubts it. The thought of that makes him unreasonably angry anyway, so he decides that he doesn't want to consider it further.

Not like he can do much thinking about things like that now.

Ishida-sensei slaps a ruler down hard on his desk and he bends at the waist with one hand back on his hip, his elbow in the air, and he looks at him very crossly over his glasses. His eyes are smoldering, silently demanding his respect, but Ichigo, the delinquent youth that he is, finds the look to be no more threatening than the face of a scowling kitten. He just smirks back at him instead. He's content for their interactions to stay at this level where words aren't even needed when they can keep communicating with their eyes – but Ishida is tired of it. That much he can tell when the ruler starts to crack as it gets pressed harder into the desk where he refused to let up.

“Tell me, Kurosaki-kun,” he says dryly. “The lesson. You don't have any idea what it was about, do you?”

“Never do,” he says honestly. “I'm always pretty distracted.”

Ishida colors and straightens up. He turns his back to him and goes back to the board with his textbook in hand. With the other, he spends a few minutes writing the most important aspects of the lesson for Ichigo's benefit or maybe to drive the point. Unfortunately, Ichigo only watches the way his fingers relax as he assumes the familiar task of writing on the board.

When he's done, the chalk is placed in the tray with a clack and he turns around and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Well?” he asks, gesturing to the board with his textbook still in hand. “I've written it out simply. Only an idiot would be unable to understand now.”

“I don't get it at all,” he says, shaking his head. He doesn't – and he doesn't mean just the lesson, which honestly, he doesn't care about. It just still doesn't make sense to him why he likes this guy so much and why it's so impossible for him to take a hint. Or maybe he had been taking the hint with all the ways he acted; put-out, disturbed, uncomfortable, nervous, embarrassed. There's a descriptor lacking for the way he seems to enjoy it at the same time. Reluctant?

Ichigo likes that one and hopes that he's right. That sounds like a challenge to him.

Ishida seems to be losing his patience. With a sigh, he sets the book down on his student's desk and drags his feet back to his own where he falls back unceremoniously into his chair.

One time, when he was out of the room, Ichigo sat in that chair. After a whole day of sitting in uncomfortable wooden desk chairs, he thought it was the most comfortable thing he'd ever sat on. Something about having plush armrests beneath his elbows and a cushion behind his head made him feel like he was in control.

While Ishida sits with his eyes closed, collecting himself with deep breaths, reigning in his control, Ichigo finds his opportunity.

Silently, he rises from his desk without pushing the chair back and creeps to his sensei's desk. He leans his elbows gently down on the top of his desk, over some paperwork, and parks himself about two feet away from his face. Just far enough away, just close enough for it to be obvious what is on his mind. When Ishida sighs softly, he opens his eyes in a slow and calm way, like he knew he was there the whole time.

If he's honest, Ichigo knows what he wants. It's just that there's also that rational part of his mind kicking him and wondering why he wants to do it. But that part of him isn't winning this time. He's not going to go back to his desk to keep thinking about it any longer. If he wants it out of his head, then he has to set it loose.

Without further thought, he leans forward and kisses him, putting a hand behind his head to draw him in and keep him there. His fingers curl in the loose strands of hair at the back of his neck and grip hard, wringing a sharp groan from Ishida throat. He swallows the sound greedily and releases him once he's had his fill.

But instead of falling back like he expects him to, Ishida stays rooted to the spot where he left him, his mouth hanging open but his jaw set. When his eyes look back up at him, there's some kind of fury there that baffles Ichigo momentarily and makes him take a tripping step back.

“Your eyes...” he finds himself mumbling, unable to control the words pouring from his lips. “What's up with them? Why can't I ever look away from you?”

Ishida's glare softens and his lips curl in a way that isn't far from unsettling. Ichigo swallows and moves to take another step back, but finds his feet unable to move. He tries again to lift his heel but it feels like they're been glued to the floor. As he struggles fruitlessly to move himself, Ishida pushes himself up from his chair with a patronizing sigh and rounds his desk where he leans back against the front.

“As much as I find you infuriating is just as much as I find you fascinating,” he says, dragging his gaze slowly away from Ichigo.

As soon as their eye contact is broken, Ichigo nearly falls forward, feeling as though he's been released from an invisible hold. The muscles in his legs tremble and feel weak, like he's been running for a long time or straining against something he couldn't see. It would seem impossible if he weren't aware of such odd occurrences already.

“Are you... some kind of ghost?” he asks, slightly vague, not wanting to talk too much about himself and the things he sees sometimes that others might find ridiculous or unbelievable. In return, Ishida predictably looks at him as though he's grown another head.

“Nothing of the sort,” he says. He doesn't bother divulging anything else.

His prideful smirk is suddenly something that Ichigo finds infuriating. He spent countless days trying to get the attention of this man, even putting himself through stress over it, and here he is, acting as though he was aware of him and what he thought the whole time. And on top of that, there's something very, very odd about him. It's fascinating. And, he thinks, extremely frustrating.

“Let's be honest,” he says softly. His voice seems to take on a quality that reminds Ichigo of how vulnerable he could look at times. There's a quiver there as his words ride lightly on each breath. “It would be hard for me to continue trying to teach you with the way you keep looking at me.”

“Well obviously it's not my fault. Now I know you've got some kind of magnet eyes or something.”

He shrugs. “I don't have any control over whether you're looking at me or not.”

“What do you...”

A warm hand snakes tentatively around the back of his neck and his thumb brushes just underneath his ear. Something in Ichigo's chest flutters and he has to clear his throat.

“You could look away any time you want. As long as you keep looking at me, you'll be unable to escape. You could leave... If you want.”

Unfortunately, he wants to tell him, their eyes are already locked. There isn't anything more he can do. He knows what he's already succumbed to.

“I think,” he mutters as they begin to draw in close to each other, “you're the one here that needs to be taught a lesson.”


End file.
